


The Cracked Foundations: The Truth in Masquerade

by AmerValk



Series: The Cracked Foundations [2]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-03 18:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12152718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmerValk/pseuds/AmerValk
Summary: This is part 2 of The Cracked Foundations Series.Sorin Markov and Joana seek shelter with Olivia Voldaren, the Lord of Innistrad.  Her court is filled with perils and secrets. Together, the last of the Markov's must navigate the difficulties of the court as they gather their strength and prepare for the next step of the journey to Edgar Markov.FYI: This is will not begin as romantic pairing and may not even manifest itself as one until later chapters. I feel that both characters begin with very differing perspectives and need to reconcile several key differences.





	1. The Lord of Innistrad

Four duelists stared listlessly at the intricately carved stone walls. Somehow Olivia Voldaren had managed to capture the illusion of daylight in her Stensia manse. Her guards were mostly for show, the ancient vampire hardly needed protection. Their expressions did not change as a woman cried out in animalistic lust. Olivia preferred to feed off of those in the throes of ecstasy, the blood was somehow more fresh and full of carnal energy. Also, it did wonders for her complexion. Her fang’s were buried between a slight, dark haired human’s thigh. The femoral artery was a gift, Olivia reflected. The eyes of the sacrifice were vacant and unafraid. Any anxiousness the offering might have felt were repressed beneath vampiric magic and dominated by overpowering sensuality.

Olivia did not relent, once she felt the victim’s pulse diminish. She took every drop the sacrifice offered before removing her fangs. It was a careful dance, the intensity of the woman’s blood was enhanced by the two fingers curved inside of her. Olivia wasn’t heartless, it was cruel to make death so drab and painful. It was better a victim’s last moments were spent in euphoria, than drowning in terror. In the exact moment her life force turned, Olivia extracted her fangs. Her red lips brushed against her inner thigh in a delicate, thankful kiss before she stood.

“Good girl,” she whispered as she glanced down at the waif. She was hardly anything. She regretted drinking from something this lean and endangered but food was growing short. Olivia tried not to remember Sorin’s warning. She was the progenitor of the Voldaren Bloodline, undisputed Lord of Innistrad and beholden to no vampire, dead or alive. She floated to her vanity table, though the mirror did not work Olivia had no need for it. She knew how she looked after thousands of years. Instead, she considered which collar was more fitting for tonight’s celebration. An onyx and ruby collar which wrapped around her pale throat or a resplendent golden pendant, threaded with pearls. The collar was the obvious choice. It was ideal against her neck. 

Olivia considered her reign a golden age. Avacyn was destroyed and the Markov Bloodline extinct. Her house had long been the power in the region but the madness of the Eldritch Moon was kind to her house. The Markov Patricians were dead, the Falkenreath Nobles twisted by bloodlust, and the Stromkirk captains gave themselves to the machinations of the sea cults. She did not want to consider how precarious the situation truly was, Olivia had achieved a coup of monumental proportions. The potential gain was greater than any loss.

Still, she kept the Parasite Blade, her trophy from the last Markov, at hand. It was the symbol upon a which she would build a dynasty. She thought it was a little too plain but the silver gleamed against her vermillion gown. She was the perfect combination of warrior and queen between red silk of her dress and the finely crafted black leather armor that protected her. It framed her gown and she imagined that she was what a the Lord of Innistrad ought to look like. As Olivia prepared herself for yet another revel celebrating her rule, a knight entered her room and waited to be acknowledged. She caught him from the corner of her eye and spoke,

“What is it?” He bowed his head, and tried not to tremble as he answered her.

“My Lord, you have a visitor.” Olivia’s brow furrowed in irritation. She did not like how this sounded. Her court was a mixture of exiles from the other houses and her own vampire kindred. What made this new visitor so critical? “It is Sorin Markov, with a fledgling.” She was struck by a pang of fear as she felt the weight of the Parasite Blade on her hip. It was only for a moment, after all, she was the Lord of Innistrad. “He is asking for a sanctuary for his neonate and a private audience.” The knight was sweating blood as he shook in paralyzing fear. Her silence was more terrifying than the true death.

“Did you say his neonate?” Olivia inquired. The soldier nodded, more at ease as she spoke despite the manic smile on her lips, “Delightful, well by all means he may ask these things of me. ” Her voice was far from kind. “However, I am holding court, inform Sorin that he and his neonate must first ask for this request in front of the court, and then I may consider it. Am I not benevolent?” She giggled. It was not ideal but this would be an amusing scenario. He was a fool to give her such easy access to his progeny. Still, Olivia knew better than to forget the intrinsic danger Sorin Markov represented.

There was nothing as resplendent and indulgent as a Stensia Masquerade. The legendary affair was draped in silk and secrets. As the head of the Voldaren Bloodline, Olivia thought they were a delightful distraction. She perfected the art of hosting the gala and catered to the refined, but hedonistic taste of the vampire nobility. No luxury was denied to the guests and no human left untried. Once she became the Lord of Innistrad, her infamous gatherings were tools of power. Vampires by nature were petty, envious, and violent.However, as long as they were well-fed and drunk with passion and pleasure, they could be contained. Lately, Olivia enjoyed observing the festivities. A calculated smile was set upon her features and her red lips curled into a grin as she parsed out the particulars of her latest intrigue. A winding and intricate path led to a raised dais where she she licked her fangs in anticipation for the elder vampire’s arrival.


	2. Cruelty and Weakness

All cruelty springs from weakness. Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Each wall in the Voldaren Estate was it’s own pristine work of art. Joanna was overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur of the manse. Her eyes were drawn to the individual carvings, the stonework was intricate beyond anything she had observed in Thraben, even the cathedrals. On each wall, a burgundy banner hung, in honor of the rise of House Voldaren. But it was not the gleaming stone walls or imposing sigils that terrified her, it was the masked revelers. All she could see was the golden light in their eyes as they stared at both she and Sorin when they walked into the great hall. 

Sorin was sympathetic to the girl, this was a garish display of power. Normally, Oliva was observed floating amidst the masked guests, but something felt different as she lingered behind her minions. He was curious. He had known Olivia for years, what would change now that she wore the mantle of authority? Sorin grasped Joanna’s hand before they stepped into the crowded room and whispered, knowing Olivia could hear anything he murmured,

“You see, she is the Lord of Innistrad. This is a play at theatrics. As always, she will require me to beg for my concession, and offer me a cursed gift. This is merely a game we play.” That did not calm Joanna’s growing anxiety. “If you stay near me, you are in no danger.” She nodded emphatically, having no idea what to actually expect. Sorin’s hand offered a meager comfort, until a voice echoed. It was a delightful trill, with a musical undertone,

“Sorin Markov.” A soft laugh followed, “How brave of you to visit with such a vulnerable creature?” His mouth twisted into a smile, it was far from natural. He ignored Olivia’s taunting and moved forward. At first the hall seemed like an endless path of debauched luxury. Vampires examined them both with unfeeling eyes, but the size of the hall, like many things in the theater, was an illusion. Sorin navigated to the raised dais with ease while Joanna followed close and quietly.

Sorin Markov dressed in stark contrast with the rest of Olivia’s decadent court. The nest of vampires adorned themselves in colorful silken garments while Sorin wore armor, greaves and a coat. Joanna noticed he seemed to be missing a sword. It was something she had not observed at first, but found herself wondering if she had ever seen him with one at all. The prospect distracted her, until she felt the a magnanimous presence. Joanna had only heard the rumors of Olivia Voldaren, but they did not do her personage justice. She was discerned Olivia’s commanding presence. For what her maker lacked in warmth, the vampiress burned with vivacity. Her red hair glowed as if lit by an ancient hearthfire and her eyes were emanated by the embers deep in her being. If Sorin Markov was ancient power and austerity, then Olivia Voldaren was a vibrant, dynamic conqueror. Her glory and majesty seemed limitless.

Only after Joana fully comprehended the majesty of Olivia, she realized that Sorin was not awed. The two mythical vampires stared at one another for a long time. Neither of them spoke, Joanna noticed his eyes were not drawn to Olivia, but the sword hanging from the belt at her waist. She thought she heard him say something under his breath, or was it a thought she heard.

“Customarily,” Olivia’s voice was like a dagger in the silent room, “One bows when they enter the presence of a superior.” Sorin’s hand curled into a fist and he seemed to wring the color right out of his fingers. This was not worth his time, but the parasite blade resting on her hip was an insult to himself and his family line. Olivia caught his eyes and smirked, “You can admire my sword all you like, Markov Outcast. But first, you will show your fealty.” Her voice was stern and her words precisely chosen. Still, Sorin refused. He balked at her authority

“Olivia, this is a ridiculous formality,” She recognized the tone. He planned to lecture her, in this very chamber. She motioned to several guards as she observed the fledgling tremble behind her maker. Joanna gasped as she was pulled away from Sorin. A silver cord wrapped around her neck and it burned with a holy pain. Her skin was on fire and she sputtered helplessly as a knight held her still. In a moment, she was inches from the true death and Sorin was helpless to stop the guard. Even if he killed the knight, the danger was too great to Joanna. Clearly, Olivia was willing to hold the life of his progeny against him.

“Release her.... and I shall kneel,” Sorin was striking although his voice was clipped. He barely concealed his outrage beneath a demeanor of control. It would not fit to show her more weakness. Olivia giggled and floated from the chair as she examined the neonate. The girl was quite charming. The change had been kind to her, her hair was a lustrous auburn and skin gleamed with a rosy hue. Carefully and deliberately, she examined her fangs. They were sharp and strong. This may have seemed innocent, but Olivia made sure Sorin was aware of the danger to his fledgling.

“Release her and I shall kneel, My Lord,” she corrected. “Your progeny is quite darling, but where did you find her? She looks like a peasant you pulled out of the mud.” Joanna’s eyes were wide with trepidation. The silver still burned against her skin and Olivia was somewhere between kissing and murdering her. She knew how to kill a vampire and her neck was vulnerable as she examined it. “It would be a shame to see her killed before we can clean off the dirt.”

The court watched in astonishment as Sorin knelt. The crack of his plate mail hitting the floor reverberated throughout the hall and a wave of whispers followed. Joanna felt his anger and disdain for Olivia Voldaren surge in his blood. His eyes were deadly serious as he responded,

“My Lord,” he growled, “We ask for sanctuary in your court and a private audience.” Olivia grinned and motioned for the guard to release Joanna. The burn of the silver disappeared from her throat immediately, but her legs were weak as she failed to steady herself. To her surprise, Sorin caught her. He rushed to her side, his eyes full of concern. She was his, it was that simple, but there was more to it. He supported Joanna until she was able to stand and asked,

“Are you alright?” She nodded, unwilling to leave his side. Even if she resented him for making her, Joana was in a nest of vipers. He was her only ally. 

Olivia was delighted. Sorin Markov cared for the girl. He showed a paternalistic affection she had only seen from a few other vampires. The girl may not realize it, but he was his weakness. Sorin Markov, the Scion of Markov, had a chink in his armor and it was something she would find great pleasure in extorting. She returned to her seat as the outcast and the dirty peasant recovered,

“Very well. In exchange for your contributions to my ascension I will offer you and your neonate temporary residence in my court and at my pleasure. In addition, for my benevolence, I will grant you a private audience alone. Your fledgling will be tended to with all due respect.” She saw uncertainty in Sorin’s eyes. They were normally unyielding, but he was clearly uneasy at the bargain he struck. Of course, he had every right to be, what thoughtful maker wouldn’t be? “Follow me,” Olivia compelled him, “This is a benevolence,.” Sorin realized her words were a deliberate reminder. He chose not to resist her. It was simple, this was not the right moment.He may have been humbled but he was not broken. This was still a game between them. He and Olivia had played for a century and now the life of his progeny relied on his cooperation.


	3. Deceptions

Chapter 3: Deceptions

A deception that elevates us is dearer than a host of low truths  
Marina Tsvetaeva

Olivia Voldaren’s estate was much larger, and more disorienting than Joana anticipated. The hallways created a maze of discreet corners for all manner of debaucheries. She was led by several duelists and one attendant through the halls. Each hall seemed indistinguishable from the last. At first, Joanna attempted to remember the labyrinthine corridors, but the guards took the most deliberately confusing path. Even if she could recall her path through the manse, the scent of blood induced a keen hunger that inspired her curiosity. Soon, she lost her place amidst the alcoves and felt an aching hunger despite the rapine and carnal consumption of humans. Her lust gave way to a distinct repulsion. These vampires were the monsters her parents defied. Even her thief of a maker fed with dignity, rather than absorb himself in endless debasement. However, that did not cease her driving and profane thirst. Joanna felt her body pulse as she became prisoner to her hunger.

Finally, when they stopped walking, Joanna was provided with simple chambers that consisted of a bed, dresser, and basin. It was not an elaborate room and was fairly common given the grandeur of the great halls of the mansion. She examined the room at first, seeing that despite its bare furnishings it was decorated with an exacting precision. Even the mantle to the fireplace was carved with distinguished elegance. Unconsciously, Joanna traced the curves of the wood, enjoying the feel of the carving against the pads of her fingers. Then, she noticed that she was not alone. 

An ageless, dark-haired woman waited for Joanna to acknowledge her. Her skin was not remarkably pale and her sage gown was far more refined than the elaborate costumes of the revelers in court. 

“My name is Victoria, I am here to help you, and to be a friend. What is your name,” she offered, with a polite curtsy. Joanna was caught off guard by her introductions. She glared at the woman with suspicion. Still, Victoria looked different than the others. Her golden eyes shone with earnest emotion although it was difficult to discern her feelings. A perfect smile lit her face and even though she was undead, she was filled with her own incandescent life. For the first time in several days, Joanna didn’t feel threatened.

“I-I i'm Joanna. No one has asked my name, yet,” she felt the corners of her mouth form a smile as she sighed in relief. “It’s nice to know some things don’t change,” Joanna remarked dryly. Then, Victoria laughed. It was unlike anything she heard. Her voice was almost enchanted with a delicate music, and perfectly pitched. For a long moment, Joana was entirely enraptured with her voice as it danced on the air.

Unexpectedly, Victoria advanced with uncanny speed, but Joanna was far too alert to be distracted by her presence. Instead, she dodged the first lunge, stepping to the side breathlessly. Turning on her heel, Joanna attempted to shove the older vampire away. For a moment, it appeared to work. She was able to use the momentum of Victoria’s attack and shove her against the wall. However, as Joanna caught her breath, Victoria stole it from her. She felt her hand grasp around her throat and force her on the ground. She lay there inert, and panting, straining to breathe as she felt the pressure of her delicate, but strong fingers on her neck.

“Please,” Victoria pled, retracting her claws, “I understand that you are afraid right now, but please allow me to help you. Do you yield?” She implored releasing Joanna’s neck. When the girl did not strike back, she was relieved and grinned,“Thank you.” Victoria helped her stand and acted with more caution. “Please forgive me.I know that you are new to this world, I should have regarded your feelings. I am going to get rid of these rags.” She said, referring to her clothes as her claws cut through the fabric flawlessly. Victoria was careful not to damage Joanna’s skin and collected the ruined clothing. Both women blushed and they shared a moment of mutual admiration. “Besides, we do need to clean you.”

Joanna concealed herself anxiously and declared with certainty, “That is not necessary. I can bathe myself.” Victoria bowed her head briefly before she insisted,

“If you like, however, you’ve been through quite a lot and I would not want to be accused of shirking my duties,” she suggested, “I’ll be gentle and thorough.” Perhaps it was the sensation of Victoria’s delicate skin on her arm or the warmth in her eyes, but Joanna relented. Her shoulders visibly relaxed.

“If...you think so,” she agreed, still hesitant, but she didn’t want to disappoint Victoria. Joanna’s clarity of thought was nebulous at best as she was led to a copper basin filled with steaming water. At first, the tingle of hot water against her skin was both relaxing and stimulating. Victoria fingers slid over her skin, cleaning it with a tender care that Joana found strange and alien. Her parents were strict and devout cathars. They refused dabble in luxury. Instead they focused on piety and restraint. A perfumed bath was not a necessity. Her keen senses caught each note of the fragrance. It smelled of spice, citrus, and amber. In the midst of her aromatic curiosity, she remembered Sorin’s words. There was nothing left for her back home. Her entire family was claimed by the Eldritch Madness and she was forgetting what it was like to be human.She failed to fend off a wave of sadness as blood leaked from her eyes. 

“Are you alright?” Victoria asked, her voice brimming with concern. Her delicate finger’s caressed her face, wiping aside Joanne’s bright-red tears. 

“I’m fine,” Joana lied, hoping to deceive her. This time, Victoria spoke with sympathetic patience as she cleaned her face with a soft cloth. She unwittingly leaned into her hand, finding any kind of intimate contact incredibly suggestive.

“Sorin likely didn’t explain, but vampires cry blood. I can see that you are lying,” she responded. “He’s a rather cold fish.” Joanna was overwhelmed and regarded her silently. “I understand. You don’t trust me, but I’ve been charged to take care of you and I intend to. What is wrong?”

As Victoria spoke encouragingly, Joanna attempted to collect her thoughts. When Sorin first changed her, all she felt was rage.She still remembered how Sorin’s eyes burnt into her soul, claiming it for his cause. It was as if they were tethered and each day his influence over her grew stronger. Then, there was her first feeding. The taste of human blood was better than anything. It was the purest thing she had ever tasted, like life itself. And now she was frightened and alone. Her only company was her inconstant emotions as she attempted to rationalize the world around her. All Joanna discerned, truly, was a very real fear of her future. “It can be difficult,” Victoria chimed in, noting her hesitancy. “Start with what you can say,” she suggested. 

“I am from Thraben. I went into Stensia to die and instead, Sorin gave me undeath . Everything is so different and this is the first time that I’ve been able to process it all.” Joanna was a little reassured. Victoria considered the girl before her. What purpose did Sorin have in turning the girl? He had never made a progeny for himself. Perhaps he was lonely, she considered thoughtfully. He was an outcast. That still did not answer for the creation his fledgling, Joanna. His decision was an impulsive cruelty to the girl. She was a prisoner to his whim and a pawn in a very dangerous game.

She scrubbed soap through Joanna’s hair. Her fingers wove between her long tresses with precision before rinsing it. The water cascaded down her body and she sighed as it blessed her skin with it’s warmth. “Why did he make you? Sorin isn’t exactly one to create new vampires.” Joanna leaned back as Victoria’s hand’s massaged at her shoulders and answered,

“Well, he wants me to be his heir. To become part of the Markov line and save it. That’s all he told me.” She nearly purred as her muscles became unknotted beneath Victoria’s dexterous fingers, “He said we are going to find his grandfather.” Joanna added as she slouched in the tub, melting into the warm water. Her voice was distant and enchanted, as if Victoria wound a spell with her hands. Victoria felt a stab of guilt as she bonded with Joanna.The fledgling was suggestible and very naive. She was desperate for any sort of affection and Olivia had charged her with finding out Sorin’s true intentions. Her instincts told her that this was abhorrent. Joanna was a victim of Sorin’s capricious schemes and her own mistress’ deluded grandeur. Together, they could ruin her.

 

“Well, since your maker is exactly who he is, I will give you the best advice I can think of, “she proposed. Victoria observed the water was beginning to cool down and motioned for Joanna to stand. Deftly, she wrapped her in a cotton towel. “The only vampire you can trust is the vampire that you made,” Victoria warned her. It was the least she could do and hoped the neonate would take some comfort in it.

“Wait, so I can’t trust Sorin?” Joanna asked, her voice both affronted and timid. Even though she despised Sorin, he was her maker. She needed him, even if he had stolen her freedom. She remembered the regal lord of Innistrad back at the village and found herself yearning for his presence once more.

“How much do you know about him?” Victoria insinuated. Joanna realized she did not know much beyond who and what he was. Stepping out of the basin, she considered this silently. He had not exactly been straightforward with her. How did she know he was telling the truth?

“Not much. But I barely know anything,” Joanna confessed. “That means I can’t trust you either.” Victoria smiled demurely and her lips parted, as if she was going to speak. She wanted to confess to Joanna, but held her tongue.

“We are vampires,” she explained, instead as she began to sift through the wardrobe. Joanna watched as she pulled a soft linen gown over her and began to lace a corset with practiced speed. “Trust no one,”she explained. “Even me.” Victoria admitted, her voice was a whisper.  
Then, a knock sounded on the door. It reverberated through the room and Victoria’s eyes followed it.

Olivia floated through the opening door, her bare feet did not touch the ground. She was far less formal. Her armor had been replaced with a silken burgundy gown. Joanna recalled the cruelty and disdain that she regarded her maker, and tried to mask her fear behind courage. However, Olivia was a she-wolf, her eyes were predatory and unforgiving as she admired the young neonate before her.

“How handsome you are,” she noted aloud, “Sorin should have created progeny sooner, his blood is so pure.” Joanna was not sure that it was possible to blush as a vampire, but her cheeks felt warm nonetheless. Olivia could smell the new blood that flowed through the fledgling. 

“Victoria, dear. Visit Sorin and tell him that his fledging is fine,” she commanded. Joanna clenched her fist as Victoria left her side. She bowed silently, separating from Joanna. Olivia was oblivious to Joanna’s fear or Victoria’s sympathy. She was too focused on the fledgling at her mercy.


	4. Beauty and Truth

Chapter 4: Beauty and Truth

That which is striking and beautiful is not always good, but that which is good is always beautiful. - Ninon de L'Enclos

The accommodations were disgustingly mediocre. It was the cost of becoming a pariah to his own kind. As a young man,Sorin Markov was a prince, but now he was a traveling curiosity. His own kind regarded him as an eccentric remnant of a dying bloodline. He saw the disdain in their eyes and had every desire to blind them. Perhaps Nahiri was right, this plane needed to be destroyed. Not out of any sense of justice, but because it was gluttonous harlot, a sickened monster to be put out of its misery. Sorin could almost regard it as a greater good, Innistrad was but a speck of dust on the multiverse. There were a myriad of planes beyond this sun-starved hellscape, but this was his home. He could not leave her to ruin.

He paced the smaller quarters with an incurable wrath.The Scion of Markov was relegated to a closet in the mansion of the so-called Lord of Innistrad, but that would change. Olivia was a fool with a mantle of power that would crumble around her. He did not want that mantle for himself because Joanna was his Queen. He would orchestrate her ascension and tear open Olivia’s throat with his own teeth. For centuries he and Olivia had played petty games of dominance, but she did not realize that his terms were different this time. Though his rage was focused, he still felt the weight of his failures. Out of instinct, he thought to planeswalk. When he grew tired of his home, Sorin would simply leave but remembered his promise to Joanna. He could not abandon her here, in this nest of vipers. He grounded his impulses and began to consider his options. 

Sorin smirked as he thought of the chaos he could render with his mere presence in court. If he had learned anything, vampires were leeches who pretended to be kings and to understand the nature of something was to rule it. Still, he had to consider the risk any scheme brought to his progeny, even though he had taken her vulnerability into account, she was still a weakness.He smelled the approach of one of Olivia’s vixens. She knocked timidly on the door and spoke in a disarming voice,

“Master Markov.” Sorin thought of how amusing it would be to simply to destroy her. This palace pulsed with a dark, necromantic energies that he could twist to his will with a mere thought. 

“You may enter,” he responded, resigned to indulge Olivia’s game for now. Victoria opened the door reluctantly. Sorin Markov was not a prisoner, in the true sense of the word. He was a calculated risk. She bowed her head out of respect and raised her eyes when she was acknowledged,

“Your child is safe, Olivia has assured me of this.” She was impressed when she did not audibly tremble. Sorin regarded her carefully,she was afraid and ought to be. His steps were meticulous. Once he was close enough to smell the tincture of her essence, he promised,

“Good, I would hate to imagine your fate if she was not.” There was no lie in his words. “Why did she send a lamb like you?” Sorin inquired, curious at Olivia’s next move. “Were you to tempt me to violence, or a distraction?” He held her hand. The skin was smooth and flawless. She looked like a doll and her eyes were astonishingly innocent. No wonder Olivia was so fond of this one. Then, her hand began to decay in his grasp and Sorin smiled. He twisted the energies and the flesh slowly rotted. Victoria did not conceal her fear as she tried to escape him. She gasped as she saw the blood curdle in her veins. Once he was satisfied, he released her and the spell faded. She finally got the courage to look at his face directly and his expression was vicious and determined. “ Young one if you are her guardian know this: If something happens to Joanna I will hold you accountable. I know your mistress. Your life means nothing to her, she will let me claim you if the price is fair.” Victoria was intimidated by the very potential of him. She had seen his power before, but the flesh decaying on her skin was a self-evident promise. Then, Sorin smiled sincerely, “I trust we understand each other. Now, how long will you keep me from my progeny?” He loomed over Victoria and his fingers pulsed with necromantic energy. 

She was unnerved by his presence. Victoria was used to Olivia’s outgoing vivacity, his reserved silence was difficult to comprehend. She searched deep within and found her courage,

“She is with Olivia, I don’t know when you can next see her.” Victoria moved towards the door, “I’m sorry, I can’t say anything else.” She watched watched his face for any change in expression. Normally she could read others, but he was like statue. Victoria could not discern any emotion in his countenance, she only sensed his power. What did Olivia think that she could do to stop him?

“Then tell me where you are keeping her. Do not be afraid young one, Olivia has secured my cooperation and I’ve sworn fealty. I merely wish to see her.” Victoria sighed as he demanded something she was not meant to give, but it was pointless to resist his question. He could simply wring the information from her corpse, if he wanted.

“She is in the eastern wing, My Lord,” she deferred. “I cannot tell you more. If you understand how little Olivia values my life then you know that there is no point to further threatening me. She will not care.” She found the audacity to meet his eyes, “Do what you will.” 

This young one was amusing to Sorin. She was wise enough to know her place and intelligent enough to fear him. He smirked as he pulled off his coat, “Do you at least offer refreshments, child?” He sat on a chair with a self-possessed leisure. It was then that Victoria realized they were prisoners to Sorin’s restraint.

“Of course. How would you prefer it?” She asked, relieved that he was at least willing to humor her for now. Sorin considered his choices. Olivia was the wealthiest vampire and her court was filled with many luxuries. He could easily distract himself here. It had been several hundred years since he indulged himself in the pleasures of the aristocracy, it was harmless to enjoy a few extravagances. 

“Something light. Your mistress was already so engaging,” he stated, his voice laden with implication. Victoria concealed her frown and smiled graciously before escaping from the elder vampire. She preferred his stoic demeanor to the cruel sadism he revealed as he toyed with her. He observed her thoughtfully as she shut the door behind her. The lamb, like most other vampires, only looked innocent, however all his kin was guilty of their corruption and waste. They only looked like lords, but they acted like children.His rage returned as he remembered the way his own kin derided him when he made Avacyn. Even recalling her name made Sorin feel the unrelenting pain of unmaking his daughter. He did not even see the anguish on her face, he could not bear to see her suffering as erased her from existence. It was but one of the wrong’s Olivia would repay.

Joanna felt a keen frustration as Olivia seemed to nitpick her. She was examined with calculated eyes and wanted to rebel. Her fangs extended as Joanna blood pumped with frustrating impotence. The elder vampire read her with alacrity,

“My dear, you have every reason not to trust me,” Olivia’s voice was soft and disarming. She caressed the girl’s cheek in a gentle, comforting manner. “I am sorry that I had to threaten you like that but Sorin needed to be reminded of his place in court.”. Olivia disregarded Joanna’s concern as she plaited the girl’s hair absently. If she was not charmed by the elder vampire, at the very least Olivia was pleasing herself. Her confidence was contagious and Joanna began to feel at ease again. She never actually made eye contact or engaged her in direct conversation. Instead, she talked about her, never quite addressing her. “You see, child, all vampires are the same. We are petty, vain, and cruel. Sorin likes to pretend he is better than us, but he is no different.”

Olivia’s demeanor became maternal as she arranged Joanna’s hair. She was affectionate and warm. “Do you prefer your hair up or down?” She asked absently. “I personally think your hair is too lovely to put in a cage, but this is not about me. What is it that you would like?” Joanna couldn’t focus, however, she could not shake Victoria’s warning to her, ‘How well do you know him?’ Olivia noticed her distraction and inquired, “Something is on your mind, and it is not what you ought to do with your hair. Anyway, I know what would look best so what you think isn’t necessary.”

Joanna took a deep breath. “What do you know about Sorin? I know so little about him.” Olivia smiled wistfully. It looked as if she was remembering something,

“There is a question. I know more about him than most do, we are the same age.” She began to braid her hair, and Joanna noticed that she sounded normal, almost like a sister. “We used to be close, but he changed. I’m not sure I am allowed to share his secrets, though I can tell you what everyone else knows.” Olivia’s face darkened, “He betrayed us by creating Avacyn. That is why he was an exile among us.” 

At first, Joanna thought she misheard Olivia. “Sorin made Avacyn?” She asked incredulously. “That’s not possible, you can’t make angels,” she reasoned. Her voice was feeble. Olivia smiled delicately as put one strand of hair askew. The fledgling looked like a painting, her hair was arranged in demure waves and braided with incandescent pearls.

“Ask your maker, Joanna. Sorin is many things, but he is not a liar. He will tell you the truth,” Olivia sounded almost human to Joanna, but then her tone was sinister as she caressed her neck, drawing an extended claw down her throat. “If he refuses, I’ll be forced to take you from him, and I promise you won’t like that,” she laughed morosely and kissed her forehead. “I won’t like it either,” Olivia admitted, her voice full of regret. Her threat lacked venom, and Joanna was too distracted to be shocked.

‘Avacyn was made,’ she thought. Suddenly, she remember why Sorin looked familiar. ‘Shocking white hair, golden eyes and skin as pale as the fresh snow in winter,’ Joanna realized, ‘Was she both vampire and angel?’ Even though she knew the truth, Joana had no way to reconcile it. ‘Maybe he knew why she was destroyed,’ She was suddenly excited, but unnerved. There were answers she was not sure that she wanted, but she had to know.

“Please, I don’t know what game you two are playing, but I need to see him,” Joanna asked bleakly, “If he created Avacyn, I need to know.” She intoned, her voice sounded more desperate than she wanted it to. Joanna was not sure if it was because he knew about Avacyn, or because she found herself yearning for his presence. She felt secure around him, even if she knew almost nothing about him. Either way, she did not question it. Olivia shrugged her shoulders in an exaggerated manner,

“I don’t see why not. If Sorin wanted to leave he would have done so already,” she admitted. “Besides, I’m not cruel without purpose.” A great weight lifted from Joanna’s shoulders as she she was relieved. There was so much she wanted to ask, and needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to be fairly regular when updating but the upcoming chapter may take a while to post. I need to collaborate with additional authors as I genuinely believe it requires a group therapy session. As always, I hope you are enjoying the story so far. Any comments, kudos or criticisms are appreciated.


	5. Revelation

Chapter 5: Revelation

Salvation cannot come without revelation. Men of the present time testify of heaven and hell, and have never seen either; and I will say that no man knows these things without this.  
Joseph Smith, Jr.

Olivia insisted that she looked like an angel, but Joanna knew she was simply a monster in a gown. The smooth, crimson silk did not conceal her fangs and no amount of fine embroidery would sate her profane hunger.Although Joanna did not need to breathe, but she inhaled loudly. It was a mortal instinct her body had not forgotten. She felt the beginning of psychic power as she thought to push the door aside, but could not quite grasp the concept. Being a vampire was like learning to walk again and all Joanna truly understood was the thirst for blood. It was a feral calling. Instead, she hesitated in front of a large wooden door stood that separated her from Sorin. Before knocking on the door, she hesitated. ‘Where to begin?’ she asked herself. ‘He created my goddess and me...’ The thought grounded her. ‘Who was Avacyn and who is Sorin?’ Joanna wondered. They were two figures that were larger than life: an ancient and powerful vampire and a goddess. ‘What were they to each other?’ Her thoughts echoed in her head, immobilizing her entirely.

“Are you going to wait in the corridor all night, young one?” Sorin teased, opening the door with a simple gesture. Joanna jumped away from the door reflexively and peered into the room. She was not certain what she was expecting to see, but it was not the sight of her maker lounging on a chair. His posture was relaxed and he seemed at ease.

“No,” she answered bluntly, not sure of what else to say. Her conscious mind was absorbed in questions. Despite how awkward she felt, Joanna moved with a supernatural grace and Sorin grinned, though it did not seem innate. Joanna was far removed from the girl he had turned as he saw her lithe and elegant figure. Olivia was a master at creating actors for drama she was always rehearsing. She managed to make a killer look innocent. Or perhaps Joanna’s humanity was retained, despite the fact she was turned. However, Sorin did not need to consider pointless things. Her nature was forever altered.

“I see Olivia has made you into one of her dolls. It is a wonder how civilized we look,” his tone was mocking, though Joanna detected that it was not directed at her, “We adorn ourselves in such fine clothing, but underneath we are predators.” He paused to sneer at his own observation. “Still, you are lovely,” Sorin admitted, pouring blood into a crystal goblet. Wordlessly, he offered Joanna the glass. She accepted it and observed a different man from the bleak soldier that turned her. He almost seemed like the rest of them, but she knew the truth. Or at least she thought that she did. Sorin made Avacyn, he must be different than the others. ‘You can do it,’ she encouraged herself with a deep drink from the glass and realized she didn’t have the palate to appreciate the offering. It was such a rich and complex flavor that it was beyond description. For a moment she considered the flavors on her taste buds. Did she sense notes of fragrance lacing the blood, a delicate spice that was beyond recognition. It gave her something to distract mind, and the courage to finally ask the one thing that was important. She stared at Sorin with an unearthly intensity,

“I wanted to ask you about Avacyn.” He considered her question carefully. Sorin could feel emotions stronger than curiosity. Grief and desire were both evident in her questing expression as she stared at him with earnest determination.

"What about her, my child?” Sorin answered, he could not bring himself to say Avacyn’s name.His next words were carefully chosen, “How she was my greatest achievement, or my greatest failure?” Joanna heart swelled with hope as he continued to address the subject. “Is it that I created her long before you, or that she fell at my hands?” The last question was more for himself than anyone. Her unmaking was an agony he would remember for the rest of his unnatural life. ‘But Avacyn...You can be destroyed,’ Sorin lamented as he remembered the last words she heard. Sorin could not bear to be seen mourning her loss. He turned away from Joanna and answered her inquiries severely, 

" The only thing you need to know at this time is that you are not ready to know about her. Perhaps you should enjoy the comfort that your memories before you understand the truth.” Joanna could not comprehend his words at first. Then, she realized the brutality of Sorin’s revelation. He had destroyed Avacyn. He, himself killed his own creation. In one moment, his words took her from hope into despair. She succumbed to a wild rage. It grew as she understood the truth.

"Destroyed?" She asked. Her voice hushed. Joanna had questions, but they all seemed to vanish in the wake of her anger.She clenched her fists with a strength she was vaguely aware of and crushed the glass between her fingers. As it tore her skin, it the wounds healed and Joanna seethed,

"She was EVERYTHING!" Her pitch rose and her words grew frenzied. A bolt of psychic energy slammed the door behind her as she moved with feral grace. Without thought she attacked him, "How could you!" She raged. Sorin was caught off guard as she lunged toward him. He evaded her strikes with minimal effort as he spun on his heel. She moved quickly, but Sorin was faster still. He deflected her attacks as he saw the veins in her arm pulse, telegraphing each move. ‘She’s too emotional, she’s using too much power and overreaching as she attacks. At least she has promise,’ Sorin noted absently. He allowed her to expend her energy before landing a blow on her shoulder. One of her claws scraped him in a desperate attempt to draw blood, but he easily overpowered her. Joanna was staggered as she recovered from his precise strike and a necromantic mist enveloped her. Though she could not see it, Joanna could feel her body constricted against the entangling restraints. Sorin regretted the unnecessary violence, and understood her reaction. He wished that he was allowed such gregarious tantrums, but he wondered if he could feel anything with such strength again.

“Are you satisfied, child?” She seethed in her bonds as Sorin smirked, “I do not think Olivia would like to see you in rags again?” He reminded her of their hostess’ generosity. Joanna struggled but could not overcome the strength of his magic. The fury that pulsed in her veins dissipated and she collapsed within the bonds. 

“Fine,” she admitted defeat. Joanna knew she never had a chance anyway. Sorin was the oldest vampire that she knew, it was a small task to detain someone as insignificant as her. Still, she persevered. Joanna had to know more about Avacyn. “But, if you created her, why did you destroy her?” she asked, collecting her thoughts. Joanna was pathetic as she wept on the floor, she wiped away the blood that stained her cheeks and nearly pled, “Couldn’t you just fix her?” Joanna’s eyes were fixed on the floor, she deliberately avoided his gaze in an attempt to hide her sorrow. Sorin did not need to see Joanna’s sadness to understand her grief. In many ways, he felt it himself. He spoke more gently now, in an attempt reassure his progeny.

“I created her because I had to believe in something. There is comfort to be found in a goddess that protects you and dictates how the world is to be viewed. The humans on Innistrad were vulnerable and Avacyn was their guardian. That is why I created a faith, and not just an angel. Humanity needed something to believe, as did I.” He touched her shoulder delicately. Neonates were driven by emotion and knew she was unstable now. Joanna needed affection, not cold disregard. She examined Sorin and was amazed that he still managed to appear so distinguished. “We will discuss this later,” Sorin continued. “Remember we are not in a safe place,” he reminded her, offering her an arm to aid her. Joanna’s hand was delicate and fragile in his own as he held it dotingly. 

"I was not ready to take everything that you had from your former life, but as you must move on.” Sorin spoke tenderly, but his words were unforgiving. He yielded to her needs as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “If it gives you any comfort, I did not intend to this until much later, child.” At first she was soothed, this small generosity was magnanimous as her maker touched her with undisguised sentiment. It filled her with a guileless affection, but Joanna refused to be disregarded and ignored,

"I'm not your child!” She declared, rebelling as she pulled her herself away from him, “ My parents were Cathars for the Church of Avacyn. They died defending Innistrad and Avacyn," Her expression was stern, "You owe me this. You've taken everything, even my memories. Tell me about her. Please," she begged. Sorin’s patience had been worn thin. First, he intended to discipline Joanna, but then he remembered Avacyn’s defiance. They were both his daughters as they rebelled against his intentions. He raised his voice, reminding her that she was powerless against him. He could even subjugate her defiance.

“I will allow you to ask me about her when we are safe and when you are more stable,” he emphasized. Sorin scolded Joanna. He demanded her obedience and was prepared to dominate her if necessary. His voice chimed with the stench of fatality. “If you think about what I said, you will find your answers.” She did not even pause to consider what he said. Joanna was not a child and it did not matter what Sorin believed. Even though she was frightened of the bond between them, she refused to relent.

“I am asking now,” she pled. Despite everything, Sorin was her maker. Whatever fear others had of him, he was her world. He owed her this. “Just tell me one thing. Was it all a lie? I deserve that much.” Joanna inferred. She lowered her eyes in deference to his authority. If he answered this question she would drop the subject. He pondered her question. He observed the pain in her expression, it was a haunting reminder of his failures. Would he let her down as well? Sorin took a deep breath, recalling Avacyn and her fall from grace,

“Yes. Admitting that is the hardest thing I have ever done.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he finally capitulated. A pang burst in his chest and the scar where Avacyn used to be throbbed. At first, he tried to suppress the sensation, but the memory was too strong.His voice dropped to a whisper. Joanna was confused at first, but despite her lack of clarity, she understood. Avacyn was real, but her purpose was deception.

"I...." Joanna tried to think of something to say, but no words came. As she watched Sorin's face she noted something unusual. He looked wounded and his confidence was shaken. "I am sorry,” Joanna tried not to stare at his vulnerable expression. She deliberately looked away and began to gather the glass she shattered on the floor. Sorin retreated within himself as Joanna gathered the shards of glass. Avacyn was melting away again, he relived the anguish as it threatened to tear him apart. He searched through every thought, and realized the past would only destroy him. Instead, he opened his eyes and watched as Joanna struggled to find the small shards of glass. She looked for the pieces intently, hoping that it could heal whatever had fractured in her maker. He appreciated the gesture, but knew that it would take more than mere determination to render him whole again. He knelt at her side, grasping her hands. There was more he wanted to say, but remembered where they were. Joanna’s eyes were filled with concern as he raised her.

“You do not need to apologize, Joanna,” he conceded. “I am an old man and age is it’s own burden,” Sorin explained. “Stay with me this day,” he requested, “You look weary.” Joanna was exhausted. They had ridden for the better part of a day and she could not find the will to argue. Sorin simply wanted her close by, she was too vulnerable to be left to the manipulations of Olivia. Joanna belonged to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's note: This chapter was an emotional labor. I owe a special thanks to Hunter who provided the perspective of Sorin. Without his help I would not have been able to focus and Joann and provide the readers with the chapter they deserve. Thanks for reading!


	6. Interlude: Poetry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the rest and is not a true chapter. I am working on something much greater than this but at the moment, I am providing character interludes to enrich the greater universe. Thank you for your consideration.

Interlude: Poetry  
“The poet is the priest of the invisible.” — Wallace Stevens

Victoria could not remember much of who she was before she was turned. It was a few hundred years ago and she had at least one thousand other experiences to fill her mind, but seeing Joanna reminded of her how fragile their existence was. Human instincts were honed on survival and focused on looking to the future. Vampires merely existed, indulging in any vice they could find to pass the time. As a result, they made poor poets, Victoria observed. Poetry was not defined by excess of life, but the art of survival and fragility of existence.

At one point, Olivia had made an effort to put together a library in a fleeting desire to create a literary salon, but had forgotten about the effort. And Victoria reaped the fruits of her forgotten labor. She sunk into an armchair and the cushion’s embraced her like a lover. It may be cravenly, but she was hiding from the world. She may have known all the hidden corridors and passages to avoid the court, but Sorin’s eyes haunted her. ‘I’m better than this...’ she whispered, struggling to cope, but his eyes were merciless. There was no kindness in them as he simply thought away the flesh on her skin. As Sorin’s necromancy ate away at her flesh she felt the true death so closely. Her face was streaked with unsightly red lines and smeared blood from her tears. She could not stop her hands from shaking.She hugged her knees in one final desperate attempt to find comfort, but it was a fruitless effort. Two of the most powerful vampires in Innistrad were playing a game with her existence. It was a cruel thing to do, but Victoria understood the delicacy of the situation. Sorin and Olivia were two ancient and powerful forces that could crush Stensia between them. 

Few people knew that Olivia was her maker, she was just another girl in Stensia. Damned to the same eventuality of death or undeath. Victoria was charged to keep the secret. Progeny were holy to the vampires in Stensia. One did not lightly spread the sacred blood lightly, it was an action of forethought and consideration. Also, a neonate was glaring weakness. The connection between the neonate and her maker was like one between man and God. You lost your old life and they became your mother, your father, and your world. The relationship was more than incidental, it was a sacrament and Olivia was not allowed to have weaknesses. The Lord of Innistrad was an ivory tower of perfection, the self-proclaimed ruler of Stensia and authority over all vampires. Still, Victoria worried. Sorin Markov was a force of nature, a threat greater than hunger and the true death and Olivia toyed with him. However, the joke was on them, he merely bided his time, as if he were cat stalking his prey. Victoria hardly understood him, but knew enough to observe that he was out of place in Innistrad. And he had staked a claim on her life, Victoria could not stop weeping. Would Olivia trade her life? At first, she thought she knew the answer but now she doubted. Her entire world started to crumble apart at the thought and she could not bear to face her maker now. What would she think that her own progeny was reduced to tears and paralyzed in fear? 

At least, Victoria knew the hidden corridors and passages to avoid the court. Few understood that the life of a vampire was a meager existence. It was more than pageantry and court life, it was a different type of bondage. Vampire society was a tapestry of chords of obligation, each thread bound together and Vampirism was indentured servitude. But it was better than being food in Stensia.


	7. Devotion

The art of motherhood involves much silent, unobtrusive self-denial, an hourly devotion which finds no detail too minute. Honore de Balzac

 

It was ever a wonder that Olivia Voldaren felt alone. Her unlife was a barrage of festivities and pageantry. Rarely did she ever just feed, instead, Olivia dined and the rest of her court indulged with her. It was easier to pretend that nothing had changed after the eldritch moon. Especially when the cause of Innistrad’s suffering was conveniently put away in a rock. Instead, he lived among them as if nothing had ever happened. ‘Sorin,’ Olivia glowered, ‘What changed you?’ The thought crossed her mind frequently. At first, she wondered, but once Emrakul arrived, she understood. He had seen worlds beyond their own, and beings who could shake the foundation of Innistrad. Even though she did not understand why Sorin created Avacyn, she could understand his need to protect Innistrad at any cost. And now that she ruled Stensia, Olivia comprehended his motivation.

“My Lord,” a guard asked nervously. Olivia was draped along a settee, her eyes resting in contemplation.

“Yes, darling,” she sighed. Perhaps Edgar rose from the grave to greet her as well, then it would be a true reunion. “I’ll be more upset if you don’t speak at all, now, don’t make me ask again.” She perfected her stagecraft and now each phrase was a lofty and purposeful expression. It had taken centuries, but she was a paragon of leadership and elegance. It was almost amusing to observe the vampire stumble through his words, before he finally found the courage to speak up.

“Lady Victoria is here,” he said quickly, worried that his boldness would leave him. Olivia disguised her pleasure as she lifted her body from the cushions and prepared to receive her servant. By nature, Victoria was demure. Stensia had not been kind to her. Olivia recalled when she first met the slip of a girl. She was offering the elder provided, in hopes that she would spare the village for its disobedience. Even though Olivia accepted the tribute, she still claimed the village for her soldiers. What kind of place offered the life of an innocent as repayment for a grievous betrayal and deserved to remain alive? Not that Victoria remembered any of this. Olivia grinned as she admired her progeny. Her dark hair was flowing and floated about her like a veil.

Victoria hoped that Olivia would not care that her face was damp, or that she could come up with a convincing enough lie. The last thing she wanted to was her maker to know of her weakness. She hesitated before stepping through the doors of Olivia’s private chambers and tried to forget Sorin’s promise. As always, her face was a light to the darkness and a sensation of warmth washed over her as she entered the presence of her maker. Now, she did not have to disguise it. Her legs twisted into a perfect curtsy as she bowed deeply to the Lord of Innistrad. The pose seemed to last forever as she waited for Olivia to dismiss the guards. Once she heard the doors shut behind her, Victoria was relieved. It took an inhuman amount of self control to not rush to her side and, despite her desire to simply collapse in her arms, she approached her with patience.

“My lord,” she said happily. Olivia grinned, her eyes gleamed with pride at her own daughter. She was so composed and delicate, like a blooming flower in a blight. She was pleased to catch her off guard and embraced her wholeheartedly. 

“None of that, we are alone,” she ordered softly. As she held her progeny, she noticed that the girl’s face was damp against her neck and then saw the blood on her right hand. It was faint, but enough to cause Olivia to worry. Gently, she tilted Victoria’s face and examined her carefully. All of the effort that Victoria had gone to conceal her breakdown seemed to melt away as her maker analyzed her. Her shoulder’s shook as she collapsed into Olivia. She tried not to weep but the tears came regardless and she her courage deflated. 

“Tell me who did it,” Olivia snarled, her voice both beautiful and deadly, “Who hurt you?” Victoria was afraid to answer. What would Olivia think? She shook her head and tried to deny it. She spoke fervently, trying to craft a lie for her mistress. She did not want to call attention to her cowardice.

“It was no one, mistress. I was reading a poem and it was so sad that I found myself overwhelmed.” Victoria hoped that her deception was convincing and tried to collect herself once more. She smiled confidently, though her eyes were somber. Victoria’s expressive face gave away her true emotions. Olivia was not tricked and asked again, her voice was stern, but supportive as she brushed the hair from her face.

“Yes, it was someone. You will tell me who, darling.” She wondered which vampire would have the audacity to terrify one of her favored, but Olivia realized the answer was obvious. Before Victoria could answer Olivia answered her own question,

“It was Sorin, wasn’t it?” Her eyes revealed the truth as she had no answer for her mistress. “What did he do to you, so I can remind him of his manners?” Olivia spoke succinctly and made it clear that she would not be refused. Victoria betrayed her fear as her shoulders trembled and she found herself defending him,

“Mistress, it is nothing. He said that he would hold me accountable for Joanna, and then...” Victoria’s words faltered as she grasped her wrist and struggled as she remembered the way the flesh peeled from her hand. “He held my arm and then my skin turned to dust. But that was all, he was only asking for his neonate.” She was unsure why she was defending him now as if his display of power had made Victoria more afraid of his disdain than her own mistress’ affection. Olivia understood what had occurred. He could wither most unprepared human as long as he could grasp the energies that made them. When they were both made, the blood that gave her a wicked grace ennobled Sorin with power that was beyond any living vampire, even his own grandfather.

‘Sorin,’ she lamented. He was becoming a problem already and he had not even been here an evening. ‘If he could just play nice,’ she thought, regretting her decision to allow him in court. She should have made him wallow into the ground, as he deserved, but instead she showed mercy. “My dearest,” Olivia combed Victoria’s perfect hair with her fingers, “No one threatens my progeny. I will hold him accountable, in my own way. But at the moment, I need to know why he is even here. What did you learn?” She kept her voice encouraging. Olivia needed her progeny alert and emotionally stable. She would make certain that Sorin suffered for his indiscretion. She leaned into her mistress' hand as Olivia began to braid her hair. It was private affection they shared.  
.  
“His young one, Joanna told me. She is very lonely, I do not think Sorin has been a very kind maker. He is distant. Her purpose is to restore the Markov line, she will be trained under Edgar. However, how can that be? He is dead.” The elder vampire thought through Victoria’s words. She sensed great fear and isolation in Joanna, Sorin would need to be more gentle with his neonate, but that was not surprising. If Sorin had a heart left, it was nothing but a sliver that remained. However, the second detail was far more important.

“He doesn’t know his grandfather is dead?” Olivia considered, a thin smile stretched on her lips. How serendipitous it was that she was going to deliver the news. “My dear, you look starved and exhausted. It has been a later night that I anticipated. Olivia kissed her cheek dotingly. At times, motherhood required sacrifice. Olivia would conceal her claws, it would not do to call more attention to how dearly she held Victoria. Sorin may seem apathetic but she had known him, he was more cruel than she could ever be. She worried now, perhaps he was aware, Olivia considered as she prepared warmed blood, spiced with clove and cinnamon. It was Victoria’s favorite. She added a little of her own essence to the mixture. It was harmless trick to ensure that the bond between them never grew weak. Gratefully, she accepted the drink and sipped it delicately,

“Thank you, mistress.” Victoria murmured, the warmth of the drink simmered away her terror. Olivia watched her expression as her progeny was reassured by the drink, it steamed in a mug as she curled in a chair near the fire. “What are you going to do?” she asked calmly, “About Sorin? He’s dangerous.” The smile left her face. She knew Victoria was correct and considered her question,

“Don’t worry about Sorin. He’s a vampire, like any other whatever his powers. He can be manipulated. I’ve had a literal millennia of practice.” Olivia considered her next move, but also Victoria, sitting innocently by the fireside. “All we need to do is put wrench in his plan, he’ll be off balance and let instinct take over,” she said confidently. Olivia recalled their history together and he became a simple mark.

As they slept, vampires did not dream. Instead, they faded into an existence between unlife and undeath. As a human, Joanna could recall drifting between dreams and falling in and out sleep. It was something did not believe she would ever take for granted, however, now she simply was or was not. There was no dream world, no fantasy, just the absolute stillness of death. However, when she finally felt conscious thought, her entire being shook as if it was rising from the grave again. Her limbs were stiff and painful, and Joanna awoke with a desperate thirst. ‘Would it always be this awful?’ she wondered. Then, she heard Sorin’s voice. It was serious and focused, driven with intent. His footsteps echoed on the ground as the fire crackled and popped. He was preoccupied as he paced the narrow space in front of the fireplace.

“What exactly do you mean?” He demanded. At first Sorin’s fingers gripped the mantle. He traced the carvings while he thought, and turned on his heel, “How did you not tell me that my grandfather was dead?” He addressed Olivia and Joanna observed that their interactions looked remarkably normal, even though the embers made her look like a fire goddess receiving a supplicant. She could not see her face just the shine of her hair in the fire’s glow. She sounded sympathetic and comforting, it seemed out of place to Joanna. She had only seen resentment and anger between the two vampires but now they spoke as if equals,

“Sorin, I thought you knew.” Olivia stood and approached him cautiously, even respectfully. She regarded him carefully and set her hand on his shoulder. Sorin was caught off guard by the tenderness of the gesture and hesitated as she caressed the base of his neck soothingly. Joanna blinked, for a moment they almost looked like lovers. She shut her eyes once more. ‘I must be seeing things,’ she reasoned. “If you’re grandfather was alive he would have mustered with the rest of the Markov line in the battle against Nahiri. You know it as well as I do.” He shrugged her hand away. Sorin was not comfortable with Olivia’s kindness and rejected her compassion. He did not trust it and nor did he need it. Instead, he demanded,

“You tricked me, Voldaren. You allowed me to believe that he was still alive.” Sorin was vulnerable, wounded, and shaken by this revelation. He found justification in rage however, as Olivia pretended to care. They were no longer neonates and her acting could never convince him of sincerity. Sorin’s accusation stung, did he think so little of her? She created distance between them and controlled her own temper. Olivia refused to be treated like an underling to such a creature.

“I tricked you? How could I if you are so much better than me?” She hesitated, considering her next words carefully. “I thought you felt his death, he was your maker as well as mine. The moment the Lithomancer impaled him I felt it, why didn’t you?” Sorin’s silence was damning as he stared into the fire, focused on the last thing his grandfather ever said: You are nothing to me. I should have let you die with the rest of your family. I banish you from this house. I renounce your name and your kinship to this line. He had wanted to fix everything somehow, but now there was no debt to collect. His existence as hollow as the profane un-death that preserved him. 

“As you recall, he banished me. He renounced our kinship and made me an outcast. I had not felt his presence in any years, so his loss was not marked,” Sorin’s voice dripped with apathy, but Joana could feel that it was veil, a mask to protect him. Olivia glared at Sorin and snapped,

“Is that what you believe? That you were a victim of this. Everything is your fault, Sorin. This was a catastrophe of your own creation. It takes more than one progeny to atone for what you’ve done.” Each word was designed to cripple him as Sorin snarled, his claws extended, then retracted as Olivia pronounced her judgement. He wanted to say something, he saw abstract shapes in the fire and bit his tongue as Olivia reminded Sorin of his guilt. He had wrestled with the fact for months, and now she openly accused him. ‘You’re right,’ he wanted to say, but instead he grit his teeth and demanded impatiently,

“Are you done, my Lord?” Joanna sensed the weight of their argument as Olivia retreated from Sorin’s glowering presence. Despite her thirst, and desire to defend Sorin, she lay still in the bed. Joanna had no desire to learn the consequence of interrupting them. Once she left, he finally noticed that Joanna was awake. There was no point in attempting to feign sleep, in any event she was too thirsty as she raised herself from the mattress. In an instant, Sorin was at her side. His worry was not misplaced as he observed her deathly pallor and drawn skin. “How are you, child?” he inquired. Joanna struggled as she clenched her hand. Her skin felt rough and she was overwhelmed with a wave of weakness.

“I am...” she convulsed in pain, doubling over, “ What’s wrong with me?” she begged, feeling faint as another wave of agony pulsed inside of her. It was as if her body was being torn asunder. Sorin cut open his veins and guided Joanna’s mouth to his arm. Instinctively she latched on , drinking deeply from him. While his blood did not satisfy her hunger, it nourished her deeper than any feast. Once he observed her recovery, he pulled away from her.

“The fault is mine, young one.” Sorin admitted, “I should have had you drink from me sooner. If you had not, you would have perished.” Joanna knew he was not lying, she felt more stable and grounded once his enchanted blood coursed through her veins. The wounds that scarred her soul healed and the morbid memories of Thraben faded from her thoughts. “We are bound now and you will always belong to me. It was the final step,” Sorin clarified. Joanna understood now, he bond between them was permanent. What was more strange was that Joanna was relieved. He was her father, her mother, and her entire world.

“Joanna, I have something I must do,” he stated, rising from her side as he retrieved his armor. She stood, following him through the chamber. Her steps were light as she waited for further explanation.“Return to your room and make certain that you feed once more. What I gave you completed the ritual, but you will need sustenance. Be careful, this palace will tempt you.” Sorin assured her, “If you must, find Olivia. I do not trust her, but she will not harm you. I will return.” His words were precise as he donned his armor. Sorin’s face was severe as he disappeared. Then he was simply gone, the lack of his presence made the world feel so wide and unknown now. She wrung her hands anxiously and hesitated. Joanna could not imagine being able to face this new world alone.


	8. Inevitable Suffering

Chapter 8: Inevitable Suffering

This life is not man's own show; if he becomes personally and emotionally involved in the very complicated cosmic drama, he reaps inevitable suffering for having distorted the divine 'plot.' Paramahansa Yogananda

A few centuries ago....

Even though Sorin walked the planes his grandfather’s study remained imposing. Edgar Markov’s ambition created the vampires of Innistrad and sustained a legacy. The corridor which led to the sanctum seemed endless. It did not weave, nor trick the eye. The hallway was truly that long, it was lit faintly with flickering blue lamps. His grandfather was not a common man, he was a renowned alchemist and his accomplishments dwarfed any creature, living or undead. Sorin did not appreciate it when he was younger, nor would he begin paying reverence now.

The inner sanctum was laden and rich with iconography of power. His desk was carved from ivory, detailed with masculine images of authority and dignity. His grandfather wore such trappings like a mask. Sorin memorized every detail of the disguise. Inside, he did not just want to save Innistrad from hunger and starvation, Edgar meant to rule it. He was a tower of pride and noise, signifying nothing, Sorin had seen beyond. However, none of that mattered when he stood in his grandfather’s presence.

“Yes,” Edgar questioned, “I suppose you have an explanation.” Sorin’s mouth felt dry and the thirst that always lingered stung. “Perhaps you’ve come to grovel,” he quipped, “It would be appropriate.” He knew his decision was right. Sorin’s vision would restore Innistrad, he knew it.

“I don’t owe you anything, least of all to beg forgiveness. I’m saving Innistrad,” he had to admit the explanation sounded better in his head. Being ageless was something Sorin was used to, but seeing his grandfather as he was they day they were turned caught him unawares. Edgar scrawled a message impatiently before he devoted his full attention to his grandson.

“Nothing, you say?” he purred. His voice was quiet and deadly. Edgar stood and studied his rebellious grandson. “Is that the way to speak to your maker, boy?” He snarled. Sorin’s will had become stronger however. Once, he would have folded has his grandfather stood at his full height. His shoulders were broad and powerful, and even without armor, he was an imposing tyrant. Edgar’s eyes gleamed with steely determination but Sorin would not wither. 

“I have traveled much,” Sorin stated, at first testing his voice. It sounded strange to him as he defied his own maker, “You know that I have seen beyond this world. There are forces that you cannot imagine, power you have only glimpsed. I made her to protect Innistrad, she will bring balance to our home.” His explanation was barely adequate. It was several small truths, strung together with an idealism that still felt alien to him. Even Sorin could not comprehend how much he had changed. Edgar was not impressed by his sudden confidence, or his naive assumptions. Sorin was still a whelp. He still remembered when he was a small boy, latched to his mother's side and now, he tried to tell him of the ways of the world.

"You are treading very precarious ground, Sorin. For the love I bore your mother I have entertained your flaws and endured your rebellion, but there is only so much I can allow," Edgar growled, his voice defined by a dangerous calm. "This Avacyn you created will hunt our kind into extinction. We will be forced to live like savages, in fear of a creature willed into being by my heir. You must destroy her," he demanded sharply. Sorin knew this was not a request, but a requirement. Still, he could not. Too much of himself was bound into her. She was the manifestation of his power. Even more, she was a protection from the eldrazi titans and she cost him the companionship of a dear friend. Because of Avacyn, Nahiri was exiled into a prison, one that she would never escape. 

"No," Sorin stated simply. It was not attached to any grand gestures, just a simple and emphatic refusal. 'Ask me anything else, but this I will not do. If you understood, you would agree with me,' he thought desperately, wanting to say so much more. Instead, Sorin was firm and unyielding as he turned on his heel to leave his grandfather, and his home behind. He needed to think as his head ached.

"Sorin Markov," Edgar commanded, "If you leave, know this: You are nothing to me. I should have let you die with the rest of your family. I banish you from this house. I renounce your name and your kinship to this line. Destroy Avacyn, or do not return." The words were cruel, but the spell the invoked was far more painful. Sorin felt a great pang in his chest as his grandfather severed the bond between them. It felt as if his body would fall apart, but he overcame the pain that wracked his body. He kept walking forward. This was the price he paid for Innistrad, perhaps one day his grandfather would understand.

\---

Sorin re-approached the ruins of Markov Manor with trepidation. It was a monument to the fall of dynasty, and host of a millennia of memories. His fingers curled as he clenched his fist and entered the decaying ruins once more. ‘Again,’ he regretted. He could visit the ruin one thousand times and still feel the sting of his failures. ‘Her failures,’ he corrected himself silently. It was easy to forget why he was here as he gazed at the twisted ruins. His eyes burned with a cold rage as he could feel the grasping hands of his kinsmen. Their corpses leveled accusations, what remained of them at least. Many of them had decayed, but Sorin knew that he would never forget the sight of his kin, twisted in the wreckage. A foul wind from the mountain whipped his coat and reinvigorated the scent of death around him. Sorin never imagined he would return here of his own free will, but necessity brought him to the edge of reason. ‘Grandfather, was this the end you saw for your house?’ he asked the still,dank air. There was a chill that drifted through the twisted spires, but he was impervious to the cold.His steps were deliberate, Sorin was going to find his grandfather. If it was true he perished here then he would not have simply allowed Nahiri to impale him. He would have fought back, Sorin reasoned.

There was nothing left of the sanctum now, the ivory desk was shattered into dust and partially fused with what was once a wall. The long corridor was simply gone and a few trinkets that lay scattered on the grounds around it. The once elegant and imposing architecture was now in discordant mallady. Like everything else, Nahiri had not merely ruined his pride, she struck to Sorin’s very core. The sympathy torches were twisted and devastated , the spells that lit them were destroyed and he bent down to scrutinize the warped metal. Purposefully, he never appreciated his grandfather’s genius, and now he realized what he wasted in his pretentious machinations.Edgar Markov was visionary, he may not have the spark of planeswalker, but he understood things beyond his narrow sight. And, due to Sorin’s Pride, he met the true death, his last hope to impart something worthy to his home was gone.

His eyes caught the glint of polished metal. He blinked as observed the silver gleam of a sword beneath a small pile of stone. His grandfather’s body would be nothing but ashes after all this time, but perhaps his sword and armor survived. At first, Sorin hesitated. This would confirm everything he wanted to remain ambiguous. However, he needed to do know what became of his maker, the ambitious alchemist who raised himself to a heights of angels. The sword was as heavy as he remembered. The hilt, bound in leather and adorned with rubies were barely scratched. It felt natural to have a sword in his hand again. Sorin even smiled as remembered the familiar weight and placed the sword his belt.

Edgar Markov’s armor was an object of beauty and morbid curiosity. The blood magic which forged the armor had a potency that withstood time, death and violence. It was worthy of the man who created vampires on Innistrad, if not ostentatious. The souls bound in the armor were quiet now, Sorin realized as he knelt to examine the sundered breastplate. He traced the armor introspectively and admired the elaborate groves and inset gems. There was no denying his grandfather’s fate. The plate was cracked and broken. If Edgar Markov yet lived, Sorin knew that he would not allow his armor to remain in state of such disrepair.However there was no body. It must have decayed, the ash of his remains mingling with the dust that wound through the abandoned manor. Sorin endured this loss with the stoic suffering of an exiled and defeated prince. Now he was little better than a courtier, a lap dog dependent on the kindness of a rival.

“Here is where you fell, Old Man?” Sorin sighed, “You raised yourself to the grace of angels, usurping divinity itself.” It was difficult to say good-bye, but he would do it now, alone. He felt the warmth of blood on his cheeks. Was he weeping? The wet sensation on Sorin’s cheeks felt strange. How long did one have to live until they succumbed to regret and weight of their own failures? “You refused to die, you feared the inevitability of mortality, but even you could not escape the true death.” The word inevitable haunted him. It was a reminder that even he could be killed. “Do I envy you?” Sorin contemplated, the tips of his fingers brushed against the fine, polished stone. “Perhaps I should have perished in that rock, or died at Nahiri’s hand, but I did not. I survived.” He smirked, considering the cruel irony that the Markov Outcast and exile outlasted the finest patricians,“Against the odds.” He lifted the breast plate from the ground, it was an artifact of his house. It left him with sense of hope, even amid the bleak ruins. For once, Sorin did not know what would come next, it was almost exciting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at legitimate flashbacks, so I am sorry if there are any issues.


	9. Profane Inheritance

I am better able to imagine hell than heaven; it is my inheritance, I suppose. Elinor Wylie

Days had passed since Victoria’s encounter with Sorin. In little steps, she recovered, never quite forgetting how vulnerable she felt. It was as if she was stripped bare and exposed. It was a sensation that haunted her. However, she had a more pressing concern. He was gone, but his neonate remained, lingering. Victoria frowned, her brow furrowing in concern for Joanna. She was vulnerable and alone, it was as if Sorin had abandoned the girl entirely. Her anger towards the indifferent elder vampire was nearly as strong as her reverent fear of him. She knocked on Joanna’s door gently, rapping the wood with her knuckles. They dragged along the grain and she suggested,

“Joanna, may I come in?” Victoria heard a muffled reply that she decided to assume was a yes and entered. She had not left Sorin’s room since he departed. It almost looked as if something was wrong with her, but she seemed fine, at least on the surface. Joanna was emotionally jagged as Sorin left her. It was startling. When he first turned her, she despised him, but now every moment without him felt as if eternity was stretched thin and wanting. Her complexion suffered as she consumed blood sparingly, attempting to follow misguided example, Victoria assumed. Still, she knew that her presence was soothing, it had spared her the vicious indignation of the other, less favored vampires at court. She approached Joanna, touching her shoulder gently and squeezed it. “You are too young to imitate, Sorin. You are barely a week old, for my sake will you eat?” she inquired, her smile was warm and inviting as she held the neonate’s gaze.

“I...didn’t realize, I just forgot to eat. I am used to privation and hunger, perhaps I got used to feeling starved,” Joanna admitted. “I...Sorin once said I could never be like him, even resemble him,” she explained sadly. Victoria’s frustration surged again and she concealed it with a bright expression. She brushed aside Joanna’s dark hair and observed a sadness in her eyes. It was not right to leave a neonate alone when they were so young.

“I know it may not seem like it, but Sorin is not everything you believe he is. He may extend his generosity to some, but is more inclined to cruelty and neglect.” She recognized a glare in Joanna’s face as she defended him vividly, shaking off her affections. Victoria recognized that she was truly offended as Joanna created distance between them.

“He has suffered..suffers,” she corrected herself. “I am all that he has left in this world,” the weight of the realization was heavy on her shoulders. “I was born into a decimated house, the last of a bloodline, and he leaves me behind as if I am expendable.” Joanna was torn as she sorted through her thoughts. On the one hand, she wanted to give Sorin what had been stolen from him through Avacyn, but on the other, his absence felt like a dagger in her heart. “He told me to stay safe, it is my duty to obey,” she followed up, as if it were entirely normal to sequester oneself away.

There were moments, mostly like this one, that Victoria despised how dependent newborns were to their sire. However, Joanna only inspired pity. Did she not know that Sorin could be gone for a few days, or centuries? Victoria employed her charm delicately, and giggled,

“It is your duty to obey, and survive. There is no need to be so serious about things, besides I truly doubt Sorin intends for you to waste away in your room. Allow me to help you at least?” She caressed Joanna’s cheek and smiled happily, “Sorin, I can assure you don't want you to starve yourself and live in isolation. Besides, you’re lucky enough to have the companionship of one of the most resourceful and pretty vampires in court.” The arguments Joanna constructed toppled down. Even more, why was she so determined to follow his commands when he had abandoned her? She relented and her cheeks were flushed and rosy. Joanna did not fully understand why but saw the compassion that radiated from Victoria’s presence and diverted her eyes. Suddenly, her hands were fascinating and she focused on the lines of her fingers instead of the other vampires distracting presence.

“I...You’re right.” Joanna confirmed, hoping she sounded more confident. “Still court is terrifying, there are so many other people. When they look at me, it feels like I’m being dissected and taken apart.” She fidgeted as she spoke, her fingers tugging at the worn skin. Victoria observed her anxiety and stilled her hands. She cradled them with her own and assured her,

“Don’t worry. I know a few secret passages. We’ll find you food and some place quiet. If Sorin returns I am certain he will find you.” Once Joanna stood, she realized how hungry she truly was. It was not hunger so much as a desperate thirst. She absorbed her surroundings and realized that the embers in the fire were gone and the room was touched with a frigid loneliness. She was surrounded by a surreal sense of self as she followed Victoria. It was not that she trusted her, but that she needed something right how. ‘Sorin promised to return,’ Joanna reminded herself.

The passageways between the halls of the mansion were rather direct by comparison, or perhaps her guide was well learned. Victoria made it look simple while she navigated the passages. In truth, it was easier to sneak between rooms, than wend around the corridors of the hall. Out of instinct, Joanna attempted to memorize them but failed. Somehow, between Sorin’s room in the upper halls, they found their way what was once a kitchen, but now more resembled an alchemical lab. She tried not to observe as a human, perhaps male, laid on a bed in some kind of stasis. A mage hovered over him, extracting blood cautiously. His eyes fluttered, as if bound in some dream. Joanna frowned at the sight, it seemed cruel to subdue someone, reduce their life to a bed as they drained away, but then again, being a vampire was an abomination. Tainted with profane undeath. Once you removed the allure of feeding, surviving on blood was far less glamorous. Joanna decided this was vampirism in its purest, the slow trickle of essence, both mundane and supernatural.

As she watched the scene before her, Victoria noted her disgust. It was not hidden on her features, but in blunt display. “He is a criminal, if you feel pity for him. It was this life or being hung in Thraben. My mistress and Cathar Thalia have come to an agreement.” Joanna glowered at the revelation. 

“You mean to say the Guardian of Thraben, Heir of Saint Traft betrays her people?” Her voice was incredulous. She was affronted at the concept of trading lives, even as a vampire. Part of her old self lingered behind, as she felt the righteous anger of her past. Victoria did not understand her outburst but responded regardless,

“My mistress aided the humans in defense of Thraben. It was her due. That is all.” She hesitated, no longer speaking. There was a famine, but few knew it. It was the inevitable famine of Edgar Markov’s curse, one that even violent transformation could not stop. “We require the blood of humans to survive. Only humans. They are not as easy to find as they once were,” Victoria admitted as she left the kitchen, Joanna following behind quickly. She was eager to leave the dank room. “You need more than a decanter of blood, I can imagine. We have a few humans that we keep on the grounds, I am sure my mistress will not begrudge the absence of one. We do not want The Markov Outcasts progeny dying of thirst.” A pleasant smile played on her lips and again, Joanna was taken aback by her abundant grace. Even so the way that humans groveled to vampires in Stensia was a continually unsettling. Joanna understood they were her food, but they were cast so low. Only a chosen few seemed to be regarded as a beloved pet. Victoria merely flicked her wrist and a young man stepped forward. His eyes downcast as his feet shuffled to them. For a moment, Joanna was reminded of a childhood friend before she inhaled the rich scent of his blood as Victoria pricked his skin. Her perception changed.

Joanna was compelling as she moved with an otherworldly grace. He stared into her golden eyes fearlessly before he remembered his station and lowered them to the floor.The slave’s submissive nature only encouraged her thirst. He did not have a moment to react as she gripped the back of his neck with a possessive violence.Joanna could smell the blood through the sweat that dripped from his pores while his pulse echoed like a force of nature. The slave trembled in her embrace, but could not run. His demeanor prevented him from resisting while she tasted his skin. There little sophistication in her exploration. Initially, she licked him with the flat of her tongue. She tasted salt, fear, and anticipation. His breath hitched as he felt her incisors scrape against his neck, beneath his ear. Joanna drew a little blood, she was only going to drink a little, to sate her profane desires. However, as soon as his blood hit her tongue, she demanded more. The slave yelped in pain as her fangs decisively penetrated his skin. It was better than anything she had ever known. 

Victoria observed something profound as Joanna emulated her sire. Her pronounced canines were elongated and fierce as she drank from the slave boy’s neck in passionate embrace. She may be a victim of fate, bandied by the winds of an uncertain cause but Sorin had not elevated just anyone. She was his heir as she displayed a confidence. Cautiously, she lay a hand on her shoulder, seeing the boys complexion begin to fade. “Joanna,” Victoria said delicately, “You must not kill him.” The soft, musical lilt of her voice pulled her from the brink. As Sorin had told her, she heard the faint heart beat fading and withdrew her fangs slowly. Feeding felt so simple and easy now as her potency surged. Victoria was startled by her beauty, it had been hundreds of years since a member of the Markov line was imbued with such authority. Perhaps Sorin’s plan was not entirely without merit. Joanna noticed she was staring and asked, her cheeks flushed,

“You’re staring, do I have blood on me? Was that barbaric? I am still getting used to drinking blood. ” Victoria laughed, her voice measured,

“It was the opposite, “ she remarked, “For one as hungry as you were, you drank gracefully.” The complement felt out of place to Joanna she was used to distant praise, even absent remarks of her success. She had never encountered something so directly kind, not in a very long time. “Come,” Victoria added. “I promised you a quiet place as well, not just sustenance.” It was more simple to follow her than argue. Regardless, Joanna had no desire to be lost in the labyrinth that was Olivia’s manor, it was half the reason she did not leave Sorin’s room. She was afraid somehow she would find herself in an oubliette and decay like the vampires at Markov Manor. “I promise you will like this,” Victoria insisted, her fingers clasped around her wrists as she was lead down a set of stairs, then through a large antechamber. Finally, they were in a moderately sized library illuminated with several orange sympathy lamps. The soft lights flickered. The room was intimate and comforting and contained several large chairs and ornate lounging furniture. The walls were lined with books, more than she could reasonably count and she asked incredulously,

“I wasn’t aware vampires like to read.” Victoria shrugged as she searched the library shelves. She floated slightly above the ground to reach a particular volume of poetry.

“Vampires were once human. Just because most compete in sadistic games and pursuit of the flesh does not mean that all vampires act like that.” Once she located the volume, she brought it to Joanna and said, “This room is mine, but I will share it with you. If you ever need to be alone from the vipers at court, this is your sanctuary.” Victoria placed the book in her hands and smiled encouragingly. Joanna accepted the book and felt the honor of the favor bestowed upon her. She flipped through the book and blushed. “I have no idea how to thank you, Victoria.” She spoke as relief filled her voice. She could not help but admire Joanna as she held the book close to her chest and glanced around the library. It was the first time she had seen her smile.


	10. Compromise

If you want to bring an end to long-standing conflict, you have to be prepared to compromise. Aung San Suu Kyi

It was a simple task to locate the passages that led to Olivia’s private chambers. Sorin, he found himself torn between disgust and temptation. Initially Sorin was prepared to leave the mansion behind once his neonate was strong enough and he was healed of his thirst, but after learning of his grandfather's death, he decided to linger.The stone corridors were tight and winding, clearly orchestrated to confound the mind and was a labyrinth between the well-lit walls of her palace. It took an hour to navigate the passages until he found a door. He overheard voices from behind the wooden door and listened,

“Do you remember what I commanded?” Olivia remarked. Her voice carried naturally, touched by a regal grace. He hesitated before he opened the door quietly, without disturbing her as she focused on a disgraced noble.His black hair was accented with subtle gray wisps. They were both terrified as she commanded them to kneel. They were powerless to ignore her as she rendered them helpless with a glance. She removed the opal and ruby collar that adorned her neck purposefully, and turned her full attention to the two vampires. He could not speak, but Sorin heard muffled noises. She waited for dramatic effect, “Clearly, you do not. It is against my commands to sire a progeny, right now we have...” Olivia considered her words, “A delicate food supply, you don’t want to know how much I am paying the time mages. We need to change how we feed on Innistrad. Farm humans instead of kill them for pleasure. You understand.” The noble struggled against his own limbs, but they obeyed Olivia’s commands. She was confident and assured. Sorin remembered what she was like before her change. Shy and retiring, a veritable wallflower, but when they were turned she blossomed into the head of her own household. Now,she dispensed justice with a reserved clarity and her voice was marked with a distinct sadness,

“Sir Thomas,” she glanced at him sympathetically. “You must pay for your actions, it is a shame that I must put an end to your child as well. You force me to cruelty.” Sorin watched as Olivia first dealt with the neonate, the young boy was trembling as she approached. She stood behind him and caressed his cheeks with her fingers, tracing lines on his skin. Then, she braced her arms and twisted as the neonates head fell off. Lines of blood streaked the noble’s cheeks and he wept soundlessly. Evidently they were close. “You, on the other hand, will pay a different price. Disobedience is met with punishment. You will be an example, you will starve until you perish in the dungeon.” It was then she noticed Sorin. At first, they she was startled by his uninvited presence, then she grew angry at his lack of respect. She was attempting to rule a nation of children driven by passion, his very presence undermined her authority. He leaned against the wall and concealed himself as he realized his error. Sorin resigned himself to waiting, keeping his warring emotions in check. He felt the deep resentment that could only be sustained by envy. It was nearly as resilient as the hatred they shared. It was a grudge that lasted centuries.

As his star fell, Olivia’s rose. Each decade ticked by, patiently reinforcing the loathing he felt for her. He first observed Olivia as she ruled the Voldaren line in excess and efficiency. Now, she commanded Stensia, as if it came naturally to her. He was desperate to find a flaw to exploit, however, she was as old as Sorin and her house flourished. Each action seemed measured and flawless. Meanwhile, Sorin was still an exile. An heir to a dead house was no prince, he was simply a courtier here, or worse a relic. Olivia dismissed the guards and sighed. She did not understand why Sorin was here, or how he had found his way into her room. In any event, his company was not desired.

“Keep frowning like that and it will stick, if it hasn’t already.” Olivia quipped. Her laughter floated in the air. Sorin smirked as he approached her with determined leer. She would not back down. Sorin had no power over her, he was here at her pleasure and had submitted to her authority. Still, there was something more to him as she watched his stride. In it he revealed weakness and conflict. Olivia read him with alacrity and a thought occured. Why exactly was Sorin here? It was as if he appraised her and found something he desired. The idea intrigued her, he was simply another vampire. He was just as vulnerable to the hedonistic weakness as any lesser creature. She merely needed to encourage it.

“I half expected you to reveal some weakness by now. You were always so impetuous,” Sorin responded dismissively. “You disappoint me,” he revealed, his voice denoted respect, even if he did not intend it. Olivia’s cheerful expression broke as she sighed. She glared at Sorin with an intense dislike,

“So that is your aim? To wait for me to misstep.” His lack of faith upset her, though she was not quite certain as to why. She did not need approval, and most certainly proved herself superior to any of the Markov Aristocrats. She even bested Sorin. His gold-lit eyes were cold and brutal, and he almost looked like his grandfather. He smirked as she stewed in his silence. Sorin watched the words form on her impossible lips and enjoyed her torment. “So, you came all this way just to watch me. Be careful Sorin, someone might accuse you of being in love.” He rolled his eyes, his expression warped in disgust,

“Don’t use words that I do not know the meaning of Olivia.” He was guarded, Olivia observed, as if several thoughts crossed his mind. In any event, she knew better. Sorin Markov spoke as if he was some bastion of antipathy, but he was merely a boy in mourning. She was determined to rattle him, perhaps assist him in confessing a few weaknesses. Olivia floated to him, her toes hovering just above the smooth, stone floor and set her hand against his chest. The finely crafted leather coat was rather fetching on the Markov Outcast and she smirked.

“I remember when you didn’t despise me like this,” Her voice was tempting. It sounded like a soft, summer rain. A wet and laden promise. Sorin raised an eyebrow at her implication and removed her hand forcibly.

“What’s the point of discussing ancient history?” He sneered. Sorin knew better than to trust her, even as she charmed him with the delicacy of an actress. She did not relent, challenging his will with her own. Suddenly, Sorin remembered passions between them. They were nearly inseparable then, as the blood of their rebirth roared through their veins. Words lay on the tip his tongue and he repressed them. Sorin had no time for her advances. She had betrayed him many times and her possession of the Parasite Blade was a constant source of fury. He reminded himself exactly how much he despised her, recalling his imprisonment on the rock and her refusal to aid him. She had attempted to kill him and she should be punished for it, Sorin reminded himself. ‘But would I have done the same?’ he thought, hesitating.

“My pet, you are so dour.” Sorin fumed at her condescension. “I can help with that,” Olivia suggested. She was not intimidated by his stern demeanor. Instead, she clapped her hands and a human entered. The woman was glamoured and barely aware of her surroundings as she approached Olivia. The vampiress embraced her, before she bit into her neck. She fed with an elegance as the woman fell further under her influence . “You taste divine, darling,” she whispered. The female was mute as she removed her fangs. Olivia’s abilities, in this capacity, exceeded Sorin. He had restrained himself for several hundred years, while she practiced her craft and excelled. “See that vampire,” she whispered, making eye contact with Sorin, “He’s quite hungry and he needs you.” The human’s eyes were blank as she nodded, understanding her mistress's command, “Offer yourself.” Olivia directed the human to Sorin who examined her inquisitively. Despite the blood on her neck her white nightgown was practically virginal. Her cheeks were flushed as she pulled the linen garment down and asked,

“How can I please you?” She radiated with an innocence that stirred the predator in Sorin. Even if he was not explicitly hungry, he sensed a primal lust as blood leaked from the wound in her neck. Olivia eagerly watched Sorin. His features become driven as he accepted the gift. He traced the puncture holes on her neck, admiring how pristine the blood looked against her white neck. He took a deep drink from the woman as his fang’s pierced the other side of her neck. His long fingers held her head still as his thirst was satisfied.The woman’s blood was a dangerous rush and he had forgotten the carnal nature of feeding. Instead, he kept his eyes affixed to Olivia. She grinned as Sorin surrendered to the feelings he so often denied. She watched as his fingers tightened around the human’s throat instinctively. Wordlessly, she removed them from her neck and her fang’s penetrated the woman’s skin again. To Sorin: Olivia was temptation itself. Her vivid red hair was a fire in his bloodstained vision. Sorin forgot the meal between them. He felt a surge of power once her blood invigorated his desires.

Olivia heard him growl as he pushed the human aside. She was startled but still dazed as she was forced to the floor. The woman did not run, but waited for her next command listlessly. However, that command never came. Sorin’s eyes gleamed with an unnatural lust as Olivia skillfully manipulated him. Her fingers were a profane distraction as she traced the hollow of his throat and kissed the skin of his neck. She intentionally knicked him, drawing blood.She recalled how he tasted, like something gilded and touched by the divine. Between the prick of her fangs and the scent of Olivia’s sweat he claimed her lips in a unforgiving kiss. He easily avoided her fangs and devoured her mouth with a lack of consideration. Her lips separated eagerly as she gave him access to her and she embraced his lust. It was all she wanted, for many years the game between them lay stagnant, and Olivia wanted to raise the stakes. It was a sweet nothing as his hands held her shoulders too tight and he shoved her roughly to the four poster bed. Olivia could have fought back. She was strong enough to defend herself as Sorin lost himself to a violent passion. Instead she surrendered to his violence, reveling in his loss of control. 

The vampire underneath the armor was exactly as Olivia remembered. In one swift motion he closed the distance between them and shredded her gown. His claws tore the fine fabric and her flesh. In a suspended moment, he traced the claw marks with the flat of his tongue. He devoured her blood in debauched abandon and Olivia knew she had won. She returned the favor, slicing through his loose shirt. He moaned as her claws raked his chest in return. She indulged in a macabre communion as they shared essence, it was both unholy and divine. Olivia was careful to preserve his coat, and watched with impatience as he undid his trousers. They strained against the strength of his erection. While his fingers maneuvered with the laces, she kissed Sorin once more. This time, her lips were soft and enticing as she drew him onto the bed. He followed without question, without thought and her legs wrapped around his hips as Sorin entered her swiftly. 

He did not wait for her to be ready, he acted decisively. Olivia’s back arched into his thrusts as her hips met his own. She attempted to take control away from Sorin, feeling suddenly vulnerable. This was going too far, Olivia realized. Her thoughts were incoherent as he penetrated her repeatedly. As she attempted to shift her hips and retain control, Sorin slapped her firmly. When his hand made contact with her face her body trembled, overtaken by ecstasy as he overwhelmed her. He held her still, pinning her to the bed, as he finished, buried deep inside of her. Sorin roared as the sensation of his release tore from his body like an exorcism. He was powerful with Olivia beneath him and lowered himself to kiss her delicately. This time he explored her mouth with a tender, teasing longing.

“Is that what you wanted?” He murmured against her lips. He dragged his fangs along her neck, proving that he could manipulate her as well. Her entire body shuddered. “It’s been a long time, I hope you’re prepared.” He promised. Sorin was alive again, his veins pulsed with hedonistic authority and Olivia realized this was not quite what she intended. She had stirred something deep within Sorin. He was in passionate command of himself and his eyes were driven as he studied her reactions. Her bright red hair was in tangled disarray as she lay beneath him. He traced the fresh blood on her skin and realized, absently they would be hungry later. Her spacious chamber was dominated by a haunting silence, and only the staccato of their breath stifled the air. Then, the door burst open as several guards ran in, defending Olivia. They were stopped in the tracks as they saw Sorin looming over the bed, painted in blood.

“My Lord!” They shouted in unison, brandishing their foils. Olivia lay inert beneath him, uncharacteristically silent. “We’ll detain him!” One of them exclaimed. Sorin was genuinely surprised as the approached him with determined optimism, as if they stood even the barest chance.

“Fools,” he growled. His fingers clenched as he stared at them with unquestioned hatred and his hand pulsed with necromantic energy. Olivia sighed, Sorin’s temper was notoriously short. One moment, the brave duelist challenged Sorin Markov but his courage was fruitless. He existed, and then he did not as his body was eradicated into dust. She rolled her eyes as the other duelists trembled but persevered. It was time to do something, Olivia realized, or she would need to train new guards. Finally, she stirred herself from the blood stained sheets.

“I suppose,” Olivia grumbled as she shifted to face them, grinning. “I’m fine.” She laughed, “No thanks to you, he could have hurt me.” Olivia taunted them. Her expression was triumphant and wily as Sorin barely reacted. He concealed his anger, though it simmered beneath his skin. Olivia stroked his hair before she kissed his shoulder, raking his chest with her claws once more. “Look, he’s docile. I promise he won’t kill me.” Sorin was affronted as she discounted him so easily. He crossed his arms in a firm, masculine pose. “So, go now....The Lord of Innistrad is busy.” Defeated, the remaining duelists fled. Sorin waited until they were gone before he spoke

“I’m surprised they had the courage to flee.” His voice bent in a sneer, “Are you so confident that I won’t kill you?” Sorin inquired, caught off guard at her relaxed attitude. He knew she was right. Sorin had found worth in her. She ruled Stensia with a natural dignity.

“Yes, pet. You know that you need me, and what is perhaps more important is that you want me. When was the last time you felt alive?” Sorin did not respond to her. His silence gave consent as his expression revealed his thoughts. She was correct on all accounts,” I thought so, now after all that you must be hungry,” she teased and beckoned for the young woman to join them. He has every instinct to resist, but elected not to. Instead, he allowed Olivia this one victory. ‘There were worse things,’ he reasoned. 

“As you wish,” he said, smiling. His words were far too polite and his expression was inviting. Olivia could not help but be uneasy. A cat only concealed their claws and she preferred when his were revealed.

End of Book 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be taking a slight rest from this story while I go through the holidays. I may not be updating as often because this is a rather busy time of year. I do intend to continue to book three, I just need to consult the muses.


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